


The Curse of the Cracked Spine

by amoosebouche



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (i think), (kinda maybe?), (sort of), Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Castiel Is So Done, Cursed Castiel, Cursed Dean, Cursed objects, Curses, Dean is a Little Shit, Fluff and Crack, Georgette Heyer - Freeform, Humor, I'm Sorry Sam, M/M, No Spoilers, Oblivious Sam Winchester, Puns & Word Play, Regency Romance, Sam Is So Done, Sam is the only one with any sense, The Author Regrets Nothing, and yet he's the butt of the jokes, best viewed with creator's style, blatant misuse of emoji, it's not a dubcon kind of curse, takes place somewhere vaguely between s11e04 and s11e10, the author has a terrible sense of humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6205306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoosebouche/pseuds/amoosebouche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The box, of course, had not actually been empty when Dean found it. A battered old romance novel had resided therein, and Dean, being Dean, had made a face and a bad joke about Fabio under his breath, and then had picked up the book and flipped through it out of idle curiosity before tossing it back in the box. </p><p>In theory, this could have been a bad thing. But since it was probably just someone’s idea of a joke—after all, what could possibly possess someone to do serious mojo to an old paperback book?—he wasn’t too worried about it.</p><p>  <i>Or, in which Dean manages to get cursed, Cas manages to get cursed, and Sam's too smart to fall for Dean's pathetic attempt to start a prank war.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curse of the Cracked Spine

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This. Is. Dumb. It’s incredibly dumb, and I’m sorry, but there was no helping it. The idea just popped into my head. Then, instead of dropping out of high school never to be heard from again, like any good Bad Idea should, it hung out behind the school smoking and beating up all the other ideas until they went into hiding. 
> 
> Note on the s11 placement: this fic makes no references to episodes or spoilers; it could just as easily take place anywhere from season 8 onward. However, between Baby and The Devil in the Details is the vague timeframe that my brain defaults to, so I added that tag to help you picture what's been happening in their lives around this period (if you do that). (Somewhat coincidentally, this is also the period where we know they have Netflix in the bunker.)
> 
> Also: all attempts at serious characterization have fallen by the wayside. (You’ll see what I mean.)
> 
> **update: so apparently emoji break the code. sorry for repeated reposting! it's super annoying!**

“And _why_ did you open the box?”

“Had to see what was in it, Sammy.”

“Did anything happen when you opened the box?”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “No?”

“You don’t sound so sure of that, Dean.”

“Nothing _obvious_ happened. Haven’t turned into Baryshnikov, haven’t won the lottery in the past ten minutes, and have you seen any spontaneously materializing sandwich delivery dudes? No? So I think we’re good.”

“ _We’re_ good? _I_ had nothing to do with this. And _I_ think I’ll save my celebratory back-patting until after the other shoe drops.”

“Lighten up, man. It was just an empty, defunct curse box. It’ll be fine.”

Sam just snorted in response.

 

* * *

 

The box, of course, had not actually been empty when Dean found it. 

A battered old romance novel had resided therein, and Dean, being Dean, had made a face and a bad joke about Fabio under his breath, and then had picked up the book and flipped through it out of idle curiosity before tossing it back in the box.

In theory, this could have been a bad thing. But since it was probably just someone’s idea of a joke—after all, what could possibly possess someone to do serious mojo to an old paperback book?—he wasn’t too worried about it.

Besides, like he told Sam: he felt fine. Except for that teeny tiny paper cut, which stung a little.

 

* * *

 

Upon arrival at the bunker, Sam took the box down to a special storage area and Dean made his way to his room. He was sorting out dirty laundry from the two-day case (a complete waste of time, by the way) when Cas wandered in. He clutched a book that rather resembled—actually, that _really_ resembled—

“Cas, that the book from the curse box, or you into romance novels now?” Dean asked, by way of greeting. He tossed a pair of underwear on the pile on the floor.

Cas frowned and looked down at the offending tome. “It was lying on my bed, so I thought you had put it there. I was thinking of reading it.”

“Why would I—nevermind. Lemme see the cover.”

Cas held the book up toward Dean. The cover showed a ridiculously chiseled, ridiculously naked man, with ridiculously long, flowing hair, strategically positioned behind a half-dressed, giant-bosomed, swooning woman. 

“Shit, yeah, that’s definitely from the curse box. I thought Sam put that into storage? And why would you want to read that, anyway? Dude’s an overbearing ass who practically forces himself into the girl’s pants. Skirts. Whatever,” Dean said, showing that it was entirely within the realm of possibility that he’d read a few pages before he shoved it back in the box.

Cas shrugged, and leafed through the book. Dean felt a tingle along his arms, like just before you’re about to be shocked, but it was a weirdly sluggish tingle; he had the crazy thought that the sensation matched Cas’s pace as he flipped through the pages, and was about to write it off as ridiculous. On the other hand, it _was_ a cursed book...

“Unhand that book!” Dean said. Dean thought he was going to say _Wait_ , or maybe even _Stop!_ but what came out of his mouth were different words entirely; his lips stumbled around them as his tongue forced them out.

He snapped his mouth shut, so surprised he almost bit his tongue. Cas was looking at him oddly, book held open to a page, his head tilted.

“Blast it! This is an unforeseen state of affairs.” More words that Dean definitely, absolutely, had not intended to say.

Cas quirked an eyebrow at him, then said: “This is a trifle unregular, even a bit unsettling, given your predilection for brevity and colloquialisms.” 

Judging from the constipated look that came over Cas’s face, he’d said something unexpected, too. Dean sighed, and was about to speak again before thinking better of it. He pointed at the book, then at himself, and finally back at Cas. Cas stared; Dean made a wavy gesture between the two of them. Cas squinted, looking down at the book for a good moment or two before his expression cleared. 

“You believe us to be cursed? We must remedy the situation at once; I can only imagine if its noxious effect were to afflict others of our acquaintance,” Cas said. He glared down at the book. 

Dean felt the stirrings of a really fucking fantastic idea and grabbed the book from Cas. “Upon further reflection, this could be quite amusing. I’ve had sudden inspiration for a diverting lark.”

Cas looked at him, disapproval evident in his friend’s squinty glare.

“Dean, are you of a mind to pull a piece of mischief on your brother? I wish you would not. Our knowledge of this tome is sorely lacking, and it would be unconscionable to afflict others without first attempting to discern its nature and how to rectify it.”

“Castiel, it would be the gravest disservice to do anything _but_ that,” Dean said. “You will contrive to get Samuel to peruse the book, as my brother will certainly find something amiss if I approach him. He believes you the more principled between the pair of us. In the meantime, I’ll refrain from conversing with him so that he is not alerted to anything untoward.”

“I find myself disinclined to acquiesce to your request, Dean. The whole scheme wants for sense,” Cas said, but Dean could tell that he was about to crumble and pushed a little more.

“Rid yourself of the notion that you can distract me through parroting popular culture, unwitting though it may be. Naturally I am delighted beyond words, but it doesn’t signify in the face of far more crucial matters. Stop being an old fusty! Here,” Dean said. He handed the book out to Cas and shook it at him until Cas took the book back.

Cas grumbled under his breath, but he met Dean’s eyes, resigned to his fate. “While this is far preferable to vexation, I remain suspicious of your uncommon good humor. But I suppose I shall oblige you.”

Cas left the room, and Dean practically crowed with glee as he turned back to his laundry.

 

* * *

 

Cas found Sam in the library, of course, bent over his laptop at one of the long tables. Cas had thought about how to approach this as he made his way through the bunker; he didn’t want to disappoint Dean, but he also didn’t want to ambush Sam and land him in the same situation. He walked up to Sam and cleared his throat with the book held gingerly between finger and thumb. Sam looked up from his work, and met Cas’s gaze unconcernedly.

“Hello, Sam. Dean wanted me to give this to you, but I thought you should know it’s the book from the curse box, and—” Cas tilted his head, brow furrowed. “Hmm, that’s strange.”

Sam sat up straight in his chair and regarded the book. “Dean said the box was empty,” he said, eyes narrowed. His gaze darted between the book and Cas.

“Dean says a lot of things,” Cas muttered. He dropped the book on the table across from Sam, and wiped his hand against his thigh absentmindedly. “Dean touched it, but probably didn’t want to worry you, so he didn’t mention it. I discovered the book on my bed, and, not realizing its nature, picked it up and went to ask him about it. It was then that the curse took affect. We started, uh, speaking oddly. However, it isn’t affecting me now, while I’m talking to you. It’s all a bit strange.”

“Huh,” Sam said intelligently, brow creased in thought. He started to reach for the book, but retracted his hand quickly. “How the hell did it get into your room? I took the box straight to the storage room. Never even opened it. And what do you mean by ‘odd’? Like speaking in tongues?”

“No, it’s, uh, it’s worse than that—” Before Cas could finish, Dean barged into the library and practically bounded over to the table. He skidded to a stop and dropped an arm around Cas’s shoulders. Cas stood there stiffly as Dean jostled him.

If asked, Sam would say that Dean looked extremely pleased with himself. Of course, he wasn’t asked.

“Well, Castiel? Have you fobbed the damn thing off on him yet? I trust my esteemed sibling is now as hapless as we?”

“You know I have not! I must needs remind you that such an action would be unprincipled?” Cas hissed to Dean. He turned back to Sam, with a particularly grumpier expression than he had a moment ago. “Samuel, I pray that this is sufficiently demonstrative of the misfortune to which we have been subjected.” 

Sam’s eyebrows had shot straight up to his considerably high hairline.

“So, Cas, let me get this straight. Dean was an idiot and touched the cursed book _and lied about it_ , and then you were an idiot and also touched it, and now you both talk like idiots?”

Dean pouted. “You neglected to mention the complete ruination of the lark I was _attempting_ to orchestrate. By the by, Castiel, your heartless unconcern wounds me greatly.”

“That’s unkind of you, Dean, considering it is you who has used me quite shockingly to your own ends,” Cas replied with a dark expression that had no great effect on Dean, who merely curled his lip.

At this, Sam huffed out an aborted snort of laughter, quickly hidden in a very fake cough.

“Yeah, you know what, Dean? I was gonna be a good brother and try and find a cure, but I’m enjoying this too much. You two kids have fun.” Sam shut his laptop and tucked it under his arm. As Sam walked past them and left the library, Dean swore he could hear his brother humming softly.

Dean rounded on his friend and glowered. “Well, that’s corked it. T’would have been monstrously amusing, Castiel. I expect satisfaction.”

“Satisfaction?” Cas was quiet for a moment as he thought that through. He looked down at the book, which was currently face-down on the table. The back cover featured several small illustrations; among them, two men were shown facing off with pistols drawn. “Are you calling me out? Dean, I refuse to meet you with pistols at dawn.”

Dean laughed, and flashed him a lewd grin paired with a wink. “If pistols are out, you’d rather cross swords? Your audacity certainly skirts the bounds of propriety.” 

“My… what?” Cas trailed off and frowned. “I’m sure I don’t understand your meaning, Dean. You were the one to demand satisfaction from me. In any event, this offense hardly seems of the magnitude to require a duel. Surely there is other recourse to repair your damaged pride?”

Dean’s smile fell and he rolled his eyes, which only served to make Cas more certain that he missed the joke. “Never you mind. It’s of no consequence.”

Dean sat at the table, then picked the book up thoughtfully and studied the back. He flipped it over and read the excerpt at the front, thumbed his way past a few pages, then snapped the book shut again. “I suppose it’s a vain hope, but perhaps you could page through the book again and see if that reverses it?”

Cas took the book from Dean’s outstretched hand and did as requested. “I sense nothing to indicate that the curse has been reversed.”

“Also evidenced by your speech. As amusing as this is, it is a bit tiresome. We could attempt to replace it in its coffer, and if that proves unsuccessful we may need to resort to more drastic measures, such as burning it in a specially prepared pyre. That was the course of action Sam and I had to undergo when we ran afoul of a cursed rabbit’s foot years ago,” Dean said. “Please don’t misunderstand me, Castiel; this situation is greatly diverting, however, it also presents a certain awkwardness.”

“It does make conversing rather trying. Do you think the written word would be a satisfactory circumvention?”

Dean blinked, and pulled out his phone. He tapped on it for a few moments, and Cas leaned over Dean’s shoulder. Dean jerked his phone back and slapped away Cas’s outstretched hand.

“Take a damper! This is a private correspondence!”

“Dean, this curse only seems to affect the two of us. Surely I must be the intended recipient.”

“What does that signify? Oblige me by being patient.” Dean finished typing. A moment later, Cas’s phone vibrated. The text from Dean contained thankfully normal vocabulary, although Dean still referenced swordplay, which was a bit perplexing. Cas typed out a reply ( Why are you so set on a duel? ) and sent it, and Dean’s laugh when he read it only served to further irritate him.

Cas’s phone then buzzed several times in succession with a slew of messages from Dean:

>> at least we can talk normally thru texting  
>> but its still kinda awkward i guess  
>> and we won’t be able to annoy sam  
>> on the plus side sam won’t be able to bug us as much  
>> still gotta find a way to reverse the curse tho  
>> hey you wanna order pizza later? we could mess with the delivery guy  
>> wanna watch a movie too? or i’m cool w smth else on netflix

<< This many messages is hardly necessary, and you always order for carryout.

Cas watched Dean suspiciously; he was grinning at his phone as he typed out another text. When Cas’s phone trilled again, he opened the message to find a string of pizza emoji.

>>

<< DEAN.

>>

 

Sam came back into the room while they were in the midst of their silent squabble; he observed Dean beaming and Cas scowling, both of them bent over their phones typing furiously, and turned around and left the library immediately. Neither Cas nor Dean even batted an eye at Sam’s abrupt entrance and departure, but Cas soon tossed his phone down on the table with a sigh.

“Dean, this bickering is fruitless. We must needs put an end to this curse. Speaking thusly is tiresome, and frankly, your missives are insufferable.”

“Stow it. You love me.”

“It has nothing to do with my feelings toward you and everything to do with the quantity of the messages you send and the frequency with which you send them. Stop pouting at me, Dean! I wish you will be serious!”

“No, I thank you, I will not,” Dean said. Then he grumbled and rubbed at his eyes. “Dash it all. I suppose we ought to rectify the situation sooner rather than later. Shall I send for my brother?” 

“Let us try the box first, I suppose. That would be the most agreeable solution.”

Before they could rouse themselves, however, quick footsteps rang from down the hall, and Sam stalked into the library with the empty curse box.

“It’s no fun watching you suffer if you aren’t actually suffering,” he said to Dean and plonked the box down on the table in front of his brother.

Dean tossed the book in and snapped the lid down. He flipped the latches one by one until the box was fully sealed, then took a deep breath and looked around the table, finally meeting Cas’s expectant gaze. 

“Well, I dare say—Hang it all, it didn’t work! What the devil are we to do now?” Dean thumped his fist down on the table.

Sam shrugged. “Figure out what curse it is. Meaning, it’s time to dive into the lore.”

Dean huffed. “Well, I ain’t the bookish sort to be sure, but I don’t see we have another option.”

 

* * *

 

The Men of Letters had an extensive library of lore, and in the years that they’d made the bunker home, Sam and Dean had made use of a fair portion of it and were familiar with its organization. Despite this, by the time the dinner hour rolled around, no progress had been made in reversing the curse. A few possibilities were ruled out due to differences in symptoms, and they were running out of relevant books to consult.

Dean snapped shut and tossed an old, leather-bound book onto the table in front of him. It produced a satisfying _thunk!_ as it landed. Sam jumped in his seat, his head jerking off the table where he may or may not have been napping. Cas simply glared at Dean across piles of books and loose sheets of aged, faded paper. 

Dean returned the glare and added a sneer for good measure. “Not that I mean to complain, but this is an excessively tedious business. I quite tire of these dusty tomes.”

Cas gave him a level stare for a few beats, then nodded. The slightest smirk hovered on his lips as he said: “Indeed, you do seem a trifle crotchety. Perhaps you should eat something.”

“Don’t be hateful, it doesn’t become you. I’ll see about procuring that pizza, but I quite think I’m finished with this task for the evening. I’ll return to it tomorrow.”

“Of course, Dean. The curse is annoying and tiresome, but hardly harmful. It can wait.”

Sam regarded this exchange with barely concealed amusement. “Fine with me. I’m gonna make a salad. Want some?”

“Good God, no! Certainly not! The pizza will suit us just fine.”

“Us? Cas doesn’t eat, genius. Don’t even pretend that you’re not going to eat the whole thing yourself.”

Dean wadded up a piece of notebook paper and tossed it. It flew across the table, bounced off of Sam’s forehead, and came to rest in his coffee mug.

“Don’t be a dick,” Sam said. He swiped droplets of coffee from his notepad, then grabbed the cup and scowled himself out of the room.

“You needn’t adopt an air of outraged dignity on _my_ behalf!” Dean called after him, chuckling.

Cas had watched this interlude impassively, but after Sam left, he sent a text to Dean.

 

<< If it makes you feel any better, I’ll pretend to eat some of the pizza.

>> knew i could count on you buddy  
>> 

<< 

>> uh ok

<< I think it’s cute. Isn’t that the point?

>> ...  
>> dude, no  
>> know what nvm. find smth to watch on netflix i’ll bbiab

<< What? I don’t understand half of the things you say, Dean.

Dean hid behind his hand and groaned. “Dash it! I haven’t the least notion of inflicting my presence on you another instant, so don’t get in a pucker on that account. While I’m away procuring our dinner, could you _please_ decide on our evening’s entertainment? I’d rather steer clear of improving works if you can manage it. And it’s no good to choose something you’ve already gotten partway through! Understood?”

“I dare say I’ll manage,” Cas said, his shoulders stiff with affront.

 

* * *

 

Once Dean had clomped off, Cas found himself alone for the first time in several hours. He knew Dean would likely veto whatever show or movie he picked out, so he didn’t intend to dedicate a great deal of time browsing Netflix. For a lack of anything better to do, he stacked loose papers in their portfolios and sorted the books into piles by topic or author. The tidying took only a few minutes, and when finished, he looked around for another task, but despite the research they’d been engaged in, neither Sam nor Dean had made much of a mess of the library. In the end, Cas picked up one of the few books they hadn’t delved into yet and cracked it open. He hadn’t been at it very long when Sam came back to the library, finished with his meal. Between the two of them they ruled out a few more books, leaving them with… nothing. No comparable curses, no cures.

Sam huffed and shoved the final book away from him with the same expression he reserved for Dean’s more unfortunate food choices.

“Let me guess, there was nothing helpful in that book, either,” Cas said. 

“Nope. That pretty much wipes out everything the Men of Letters has on curses. We’ll move on to the archives next, maybe there’ll be an applicable case history or record of—” Sam broke off abruptly and turned toward the stairs as the bunker door slammed, the resounding clang heralding Dean’s return. 

“That was fast. Well, the archives’ll still be here tomorrow. We can dive into them then. Or maybe I’ll get started on it tonight. You go… have fun,” Sam said, and waved Cas away just as Dean came stomping down the steps into the library. Something in Sam’s tone pricked at his awareness, and he stared at Sam with burgeoning suspicion. Cas wasn’t sure if Sam doubted his ability to be amused, or Dean’s ability to provide amusement, but didn’t argue because Dean had just walked past him, smiling widely at him. He thought Sam might call that a ‘shit-eating grin,’ but wasn’t entirely sure, so he heaved a mental sigh and turned to follow Dean.

Cas trailed Dean to Dean’s room in silence, their footsteps ringing hollowly through the maze-like halls. Dean hummed off-key softly, and it struck him, suddenly, just how cheerful Dean was despite being afflicted by a curse. And that wasn’t the only odd thing: he liked spending time with Dean, but he wasn’t sure why Dean was so adamant in spending time with him—at this particular moment, and to do these particular things, that is. But his reflections were cut short as they reached Dean’s room. Dean chucked the pizza on the bed without ceremony and plopped down next to it. He gestured to the other side of the bed and Cas sat much more gingerly.

“What is the selection for the evening?” Dean asked as he rifled through the pizza box, but he let the lid drop down without removing a slice. “Hang it, I’ve forgot my beer.” Dean jogged out of the room toward the kitchen. 

Cas decided to take this opportunity to pretend he’d actually done as Dean suggested, and he quickly brought up Netflix. He scrolled down past several categories, not really looking for anything in particular, but rather waiting until something caught his eye. He spotted something that reminded him a little bit of that trilogy that Dean liked so much, the one with the sexy archaeologist with the hat and the whip. The image displayed showed a man and a woman swinging through a jungle on a vine. It looked adventuresome and would surely appeal to Dean, so Cas selected it and waited.

 

* * *

 

They made it through the first few minutes of the movie with not even a word of protest from Dean—but that may have had something to do with the cowboys. As soon as it transitioned to the real story, though, Dean stiffened up and leveled a deeply suspicious look over at Cas.

“What the devil is this, anyway?”

“It’s called Romancing the Stone. I distinctly recall being handed the reins on the matter of selection as you were markedly indifferent, so this is what we shall watch,” Cas replied. “Besides, I find it enjoyable.”

“For heaven’s sake, Cas! You needn’t take offense!”

Dean was sulkily silent for a little while, but then soon got engrossed in the film. It was a bit ridiculous, but cheesy 80’s adventure flicks were pretty much his thing. He kept it to himself, of course, but he thought it was a fine choice. Cas seemed to be enjoying it as well, judging from how often he smiled throughout it. As the credits rolled, Dean sat back and stretched.

“Well, I’ll own that was fairly tolerable.”

“Tolerable? I quite enjoyed it. There is a sequel…” Cas hovered over the next result and looked over at Dean, clearly waiting for the go-ahead. Dean suddenly realized how close they were, both leaning back against the headboard and tilted in towards each other. Their shoulders were brushing, and Cas’s body heat radiated through Dean’s t-shirt. Maybe he was more buzzed than he should have been from a few beers, but he thought it was actually rather pleasant, sitting here like this. 

“I think that will answer quite well.”

 

* * *

 

Dean gradually became aware of his face smushed into something warm and somewhat damp. He drifted for a while, in a half-conscious blissful doze, until the tingling in his arm was too much to bear and he woke fully. The hand petting his head stilled as Dean shifted, and his face flushed hot when he realized he’d fallen asleep—and thereby also drooled—on Cas’s lap. He blinked blearily and saw the TV was back on the Browse screen. Dean couldn’t even remember any of the second movie. He struggled upright, doing his damndest not to manhandle his friend as he did, which required some awkward positioning of his hands as he pushed himself up. 

Cas’s hand slid off his head as he sat up, and it fell down along his side and came to rest around his waist. It was a warm solid weight against him, and he didn’t mind it, not really, which was strange for him. Dean knew he wasn’t drunk, but he felt… odd. Like this wasn’t quite real, or he was outside of himself, looking down on the scene playing out. And the scene playing out was Cas being extremely nonchalant about the whole damn thing. 

“The sequel wasn’t nearly as good, Dean. I quite understand why you nodded off. Or—were you a trifle foxed, perhaps?” Cas asked, and pointedly did not stare at the several beer bottles littering Dean’s nightstand.

“Not even a little. My apologies for slavering all over you, but it appears your lap was very restful.” Dean wiped at the wet spot ineffectually, and Cas fairly jerked back at the contact, then froze, stiffly. Dean whipped his hand back to his own side, and forced out a laugh. “Don’t refine too much upon it; I have no intention of molesting you.”

Cas was quiet for a long moment. His arm, still clasped loosely around Dean’s middle, twitched the slightest amount. The light touch, accidental though it was, sent a shock through his veins and Dean swallowed; his tongue was swollen and thick in his suddenly dry mouth. His body hummed with the desire to scoot over the scant two inches separating them. As he turned the thought over and over in his head, the silence stretched long and unforgiving.

“I dare say I ought not, but—what if I told you I wish you would?” Cas finally said. His voice was quiet; Dean thought he almost sounded regretful, like he hadn’t given himself permission to say those words, but they’d spilled out anyway. Dean took too long to respond, because Cas continued, his head downcast. “Forgive the presumption. I know it won’t answer! I own, I’ve made a mess of this.” 

Cas started to withdraw his arm from behind Dean. Without even thinking about it, Dean scooted himself back against the headboard, trapping Cas’s arm. Cas gave one feeble tug—clearly not trying very hard because _angel_ —and gave in. Even in the dim lighting of his room, even with the previous missteps between them, Dean could easily interpret the look Cas threw over at him: questioning, unsure if he’d overstepped his bounds and encroached on Dean’s personal space.

“That’s the devil of it, though, Cas. On no account…! You— _you_ are blameless, at least!” Dean huffed out a short, humorless chuckle. “It is I who deserve that honor! My conduct has been everything of the most damnable.”

Dean wasn’t even sure whether he was apologizing for their current awkwardness, for cursing them, or for everything that’s happened over the years. But at his words, Cas curled his arm around Dean again, and, thankful, Dean clasped his hand around Cas’s. 

Dean still felt disconnected, though he was much more awake now. His head was buzzing with possibilities, half of which he wasn’t even sure he wanted. But he didn’t know—he didn’t think it was the curse, at least not directly, because it’s not like he felt _compelled_ to do anything; it was more like he just felt _freer._ As if, perhaps, the weird situation they just happened to share made it easier for him to be okay with what he wanted. And, at the risk of being a dick, having Cas afflicted even though he was an angel leveled the playing field. It humanized him, in a way. 

Dean gave himself a mental shake; he was getting ahead of things. He didn’t know what Cas wanted, not really, and all he could definitively say about his own wants was that a kiss would be nice. He looked over at Cas, and Cas looked back at him. Dean realized that as clueless as Cas was when it came to people stuff, he couldn’t rely on him to make a move. If Dean wanted this, he’d have to do it himself.

“I dare say _I_ ought not, but… It seems I cannot stop myself wanting to kiss you,” Dean said, and immediately reddened, his neck growing hot. “Damn it, I grow tired of this infamous curse!” 

Spouting overly-romantic drivel was hardly the way Dean had envisioned himself propositioning his friend. Fortunately, Cas wasn’t put off by the awkward phrasing, but simply gave Dean a wide, lopsided smile. Before he could worry himself out of it, Dean leaned over and planted one on him. It was probably one of the best ideas he’d come up with yet. Cas’s lips were plush and inviting and Dean, who only meant to give a chaste peck out of embarrassment and uncertainty, sank into them gladly as the kiss deepened into something hungry and desperate. He lost himself in the pure sensation: not only the physical desire that coursed through him, but the thrill of something he’d thought would always be denied to him. He was drowning in it, and only the burning in his lungs called him back to himself. 

With a gasp, he broke free and took a few large, gulping breaths. He regarded Cas with half-lidded eyes: his friend was in utter disarray, and Dean realized he’d fisted a hand in his hair. He let go reluctantly, patted the strands into some semblance of order, then straightened Cas’s shirt collar and tie. Dean finally met Cas’s eyes; he was staring at Dean with an inscrutable expression, his eyes intense and bright and his lips swollen and parted invitingly. He looked debauched and entirely delicious, and Dean had done that to him.

“My God,” Dean murmured, voice thick and rough. Every nerve in Dean’s body was electrified, alive with purpose, and _Cas_ had done that to _him_.

“I—I did that well, did I not?” Cas asked.

Dean reached a hand up to Cas and touched his check gently. “A little too well,” he said wryly. “I have a very good mind to repeat the experience. Immediately,” he added in case of misunderstanding.

“I should like that very much, Dean,” Cas said. A knowing smile broke out over his face. Dean grinned wolfishly, and swung himself over so that he was straddling Cas and pressed him back into the headboard as he dove in for another kiss.

 

* * *

 

It felt like early morning when Cas awoke with a fuzzy head and no feeling in his arm. It quickly became apparent that the cause of that numbness was Dean lying on it, curled on his side. The events of the previous evening came back to Cas in a flash, and he flushed becomingly. Embarrassed but filled with wonder, he rolled over to embrace Dean and buried his face in the back of the other man’s neck. Dean’s bare skin radiated warmth and Cas snuggled closer. The heat between them was intoxicating and impossible to resist, but he immediately regretted the movement when Dean stirred.

“Cas?” Dean sounded groggy, and Cas wondered, again, if Dean had been drunk last night. He hoped not, and tried to reassure himself that it took far more than a few beers to even get him tipsy. 

“What’s—oh. Yeah,” Dean said. He started shifting in Cas’s arms. Suddenly certain that he was about to lose everything, Cas gripped him tighter, which only caused Dean to struggle more. “Dude, chill. Lemme go.”

Heart sinking quickly, Cas relaxed his grip. He was mortifyingly gratified when Dean only rolled over to face him and gave Cas a quick peck on the lips. The quickly see-sawing emotions were too much, and his heart started galloping, followed by awareness thrilling through his body. Or perhaps that was simply arousal from being so near Dean.

“Good morning, Dean.”  


“G’morning. Heh, you’re butt naked— _shit_! Cas!” Dean broke into a wide smile. He had one eye crusted with sleep, his hair lay oddly flattened, a crease lined his cheek, and his faint morning breath ghosted over the scant distance between them, but Cas had never seen anyone so beautiful as Dean in that moment. “Cas, man, you know what this means?”

“Hmm?” He didn’t know what ‘this’ meant, not at all, but he couldn’t think because he was stupid with lust.

“The fucking curse is gone,” Dean said with a grin.

“Oh!” Cas replied with some relief. “I wonder why that is.”

Dean was silent for a few moments, during which time he ran his free hand through Cas’s hair. The gentle touch felt like heaven, and Cas momentarily lost track of the conversation; he started guiltily when he realized Dean had begun speaking again.

“—only a theory, but the book was a damn romance novel. So, y’know, it wanted us to, uh—well, uh, you pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down?”

“What? Dean, I don’t understand what you mean.”

“ _Romance. Novel._ ” He paused meaningfully, but Cas had no idea what that entailed, so Dean continued: _“_ It wanted us to, y’know, hook up?”

“Oh,” Cas said, nonplussed. He cleared his throat. “Dean, do you think, perhaps, we should, ah, do that again? Just to be certain that the curse is well and truly broken?”

Dean laughed, and kissed him. “Uh, yeah. Good idea. Just to be on the safe side, ‘n all.”

 

* * *

 

“Mornin’, Sammy.” Swathed in his Dead Guy Robe, Dean strode into the library and took in the mess of papers and case files spread out on the table with a self-satisfied smirk. Sam was slouched in a chair, his face tight with exhaustion or perhaps worry, a thick file in hand and coffee at his elbow. He grunted a greeting and never even looked up at Dean’s entrance. Dean waited; a few seconds passed before Sam’s head jerked up, his eyes comically wide and mouth slack as he regarded his brother.

“What the fuck? How did—you figured out a cure?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess it just wore off. Pretty sure the whole thing was a joke, y’know, since it wasn’t, uh, harmful or anything.”

Sam narrowed his eyes and his lips pursed. 

Sensing that interrogation was imminent, Dean smiled disarmingly and sat down at the laptop. “Any new cases pop up?”

“So that’s it? I’m up all night researching this shit, and it just _wears off?_ Un-fucking-believable.” Sam tossed the file to the table and it spun around on the polished surface. “Before this whole thing came up,” he waved his hand, encompassing Dean and the mess on the table, “I had a few prospective cases lined up. Tabs should still be open if you wanna take a look.”

Footsteps in the hall outside the library heralded Cas’s entrance; he poked his head around the doorway and, seeing both brothers already seated and at work, he approached them.

“Good morning, Sam.” He pulled out and sat at the chair at the end of the table. 

There was some shuffling around that caused Sam to dart suspicious glances between the two of them, but he didn’t notice—couldn’t have, really—that Dean had propped his feet up on Cas’s lap and that Cas was half-heartedly trying to shove them off. With a long-suffering sigh, Sam began to pack up the files spread out on the table. While Sam was occupied with that, Dean glared mulishly and gestured frantically at Cas, and Cas rolled his eyes but finally capitulated and let Dean keep his feet up. He clasped a hand on Dean’s ankle and it wasn’t long before he started trailing his fingers along the exposed skin with a wickedly light touch. 

Dean suddenly yelped and jerked, and his knee banged the underside of the table, rattling Sam’s cup of coffee. 

Sam stared. “What the hell are you guys doing?”

“Charlie horse? Foot cramp?” Dean said.

If Sam narrowed his eyes any further, they’d be closed.

“Uh-huh.” He looked from Dean to Cas, took in their carefully blank expressions, and sighed again. “What, you find another cursed book or something? Whatever you’re planning, I want no part in it. We’ve got too much shit to do to have another prank war, or _whatever_ the hell you’ve got in mind.”

“Dude, we’re not—you know what? Nevermind. You’re right. We’ll keep you out of it.” Dean spread his hands placatingly, but he still had a satisfied smirk on his face that kept Sam suspicious.

“And just because you’re being a dick, we’re doing the airport case.”

“What?” Dean cried. “No way, no _fucking_ way. Look, I won’t even argue for the clown one; we’ll pick a different case, okay? There’s gotta be something easy in here somewhere,” he muttered, clicking through the open tabs on Sam’s laptop. Cas sat serenely by while they bickered, a fond smile gracing his features.

 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a super-trashy romance, but apparently I read far more Georgette Heyer as a kid than bodice-rippers, and all the conversation morphed into something more appropriate for a Regency without even a by-your-leave… So, yeah. Sorry, that's why there's not much smut! (All the best curse-speak lines are Georgette Heyer, and not me, btw!)
> 
> Huge THANK YOUs to fishy and dimps for reading this through <3
> 
> And thank you, gentle reader, for indulging my weirdness!


End file.
